Butcher, Baker, Candlestick Maker
by ficanicbasket
Summary: A bakery just opened next door to Dean's butcher shop, and Dean makes the mistake of telling Sam there's no way to make pastry manly in front of the pastry chef himself.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Butcher, Baker, Candlestick Maker

**Author**: ficanicbasket

**Recipient **: ltlredhairdgirl

**Pairing**: Dean/Castiel

**Rating**: PG-13 (language, brief mention of sexuality)

**Warnings**: None, other than a brief mention of organ meats (he is a butcher, after all...).

**Spoilers**: None, since it's AU.

**Prompt**: Human AU - Castiel owns a bakery and wins Dean over by slowly feeding him delicious things day by day.

**Notes**: This was written for ltlredhairdgirl's Everlasting Birthday Challenge. Her prompt dovetailed neatly with the inspiration from Misha's Twitter user info of "Actor, baker, candlestick maker". Beer description from Deep Ellum. The Dutch ale in question is an "oak-aged imperial stout." Cupcake descriptions are from Butch Bakery. This just kept getting longer and longer (and entire bits got discarded to keep it only mostly huge), and I wrote it this week while being sick, and recovering from, a stomach virus. I hope it's comprehensible. Happy birthday!

**Summary**: A bakery just opened next door to Dean's butcher shop, and Dean makes the mistake of telling Sam there's no way to make pastry manly in front of the pastry chef himself.

"There is no way you can make pastry manly. I mean, look at the shit in here. Gigantic cupcakes with icing taller than the cake. Oh, look, cupcakes covered in flowers—wait, is that a real flower? Why the fuck would you want to eat a real flower?" Passing a tall display case, Dean peers down into the next, waist-high cabinet to read off descriptions: "'Opera cake. Delicate almond sponge cake, soaked in small-batch, locally roasted Arabica coffee, layered with 70% bittersweet chocolate and coffee buttercream, then enrobed in more ganache,' whatever ganache is." So many French words on the descriptions of the items, so few letters in the words that you actually say. How does 'pate choux' become 'Pa-tay chu'? There's an x, for heaven's sake! "I mean, coffee and chocolate are always good, but what guy wants a dessert involving 'delicate' things?"

Sam, being approximately as tall as the Empire State Building, has to squat to read the labels. "Yeah, well, he's the new neighbor to your shop, so maybe you should be polite and try something? Pretend to like it, at least? Besides, I'm pretty sure your sweet tooth would still like all that icing." Dean turns from the case to roll his eyes and look at the slowly waking town outside the shop. It's nearing on fall, and the trees are just beginning to change. The area they live in is close to the Massachusetts border, in a town on New Hampshire's "Antique Mile", so they get tourists up for the foliage or people out for antiques. Either way, it's people who want advice on unusual cuts or don't mind spending a premium on meat that doesn't come from a factory farm and doesn't get stuffed with antibiotics. Dean, with Bobby's network, has enough connections to farmers in the area that chefs from Boston have also started to use Dean as a route to fresher ingredients. He doesn't have a problem with the chefs who make fancy food; it's just that personality of the chefs seems to largely be 'intense and very picky.' Good for his business, not so good for his blood pressure. So far, Dean thinks that his shop's new neighbor probably runs along those lines.

Glancing back over at the tall case they had just moved away from, Dean finally notices the hand with slender wrist that is twitching cupcakes just so. The hand disappears, and tufts of messy brown hair slowly begin to rise behind the case. Dean watches in fascination as a sculpted face with knitted brows, bright azure eyes, and stubble appears s-l-o-w-l-y, prairie dog-like, finally topping out just a few inches shy of his own height and gazing steadily.

The cautious head finally speaks and asks, "Can I help you with something?" in a growly voice that immediately makes Dean wonder just how pissed this guy got about his not-so-sugary comments about all the sugar in the shop.

"Oh! Hey! Yeah, my brother—" Sam claps Dean on the shoulder a bit too hard "—works in the shop next door, and I thought it was time we finally came to say hello." The eyes continue to gaze steadily, and the man finally says "…Hello."

"So, uh, I'm Sam. This is Dean. Like I said, he works next door. I have class a couple days a week at Merrimack, and I'm also taking a couple online courses, so I usually stop by the shop because Mr. Sunshine over here tends to forget his lunch at home." Sam smiles broadly at the face and attempts to covertly elbow his brother into speaking. Sam's smile gets a bit more strained and wider. "My name is Castiel. Cas, if you prefer." "Are you new to the area?" Dean notices that during the entirety of this conversation, this guy – Castiel – hasn't blinked. His own eyes are starting to water at the sight, and he grows more concerned that if he were to pour water on the guy he'd see sparks from circuits frying. "Not particularly." A younger woman appears from the back, carrying another try to fill the displays. With that cue, Castiel abruptly says, "Please excuse me. I have things to do out back."

While Dean and Sam trade looks of surprise, Cas reappears from the back carrying two plates, each one bearing a cupcake. Cas tentatively tilts his head at Sam and says, "I'd like to expand the offerings to things that are more nuanced in flavor." His eyes slide to Dean as he says this, cooling notably from the attempt at friendliness Sam was receiving. "I don't have many non-foodie friends to give feedback on taste combinations that the greater public might like, so… um. Perhaps I could persuade you to try a few things when you stop by to deliver Dean's lunch?"

One plate is proffered to Sam, and the other is handed to a dubious Dean. Dean notices that his cupcake is distinctly lacking in flowers. "Dude, are these… pretzels?" The barest hint of a smirk appears at Cas's mouth. Dean gets momentarily distracted by the movement of Cas's lips. "Yes, that's chocolate beer cake and beer-infused buttercream, topped with crushed pretzels. Sam, you have a rum-soaked vanilla cake with cola Bavarian cream."

Dean would open his mouth to apologize to the guy, but he's already got half a huge cupcake in there. He hopes the joyous whimpering and eyes cast to heaven carry his enjoyment across. Sam is taking smaller bites, which means there's plenty for Dean to try as swaps the cupcakes when Sam's distracted by trying to tell Cas how he likes it. "HEY. I thought you said you weren't going to like anything in here." "Sorry, Sammy. Gotta try 'em all. It's for the good of Cas's business. And for science. I know how you like science." Mouth full again, Dean hands Sam the now empty plate and backs towards the door as he waves goodbye to Cas and his assistant and gives them a thumbs up.

Dean straightens up from filling his display case the next morning to see a head, once again with knitted brows. For all that the guy – Castiel, a name almost as bewildering as 'pate choux' is a phrase – seems to have a large stick up his ass, his eyebrows sure are flexible enough to express emotions on occasion. "…Oh." The brows smooth back out into an approximation of a blank face, and a small white plate clinks down on top of the case, carrying 2 small doughnut-shaped items. "For Sam. When he comes by. He seems to be running a bit late this morning." A paper cup joins the plate, and the head with its characteristically mussed hair and piercing eyes turns and heads out. Dean totally does not bounce up onto his toes to catch the sweetly shaped ass striding out the door. He was just trying to get a better view of the items left on his case. "Probably some sort of weird grass tea thing in here, knowing my treehugger brother and his equally hippy new friend." Dean gently shakes the paper cup side to side, rolls his eyes, and inhales deeply to sigh. He pauses as there's the smell of something fried – oh dear god, how is he supposed to resist that and leave something for Sasquatch – and… and… the tang of coffee in the air?

Sam does get one entire beignet, covered in confectioner's sugar and filled with tart raspberry jam. He does get distinctly less than a full cup of coffee, though. Dean's glad he could sneak out back with his treat because the noises he makes weren't fit for outside a bedroom.

While Cas pops in at relatively predictable times with a now astounding variety of pastries, Dean keeps feeling the urge to go next door at the most random of moments. He just really wants to see if the guy loosens up beyond the small twitch of the lips and the obviously mobile but only to frown eyebrows. Today, he fails to resist that urge, especially when Sam comes in midday and mentions he hasn't eaten lunch yet and he spotted a quiche in the window of the bakery.

"So why is so much of this stuff so sweet if you prefer 'more complex things'?" Dean will one day learn to start a conversation with this guy in a more normal matter. It's just every time he looks at him unexpected and embarrassing things escape from his mouth. Insults, whimpers, moans, and now questions related to conversations a month old. Cas looks up from behind the glass, and Dean wishes he could angle himself so he could catch both the front and the rear view at the same time. "Gabriel provided the funds the bank loan didn't, and you've seen the evidence of his sweet tooth with the cupcakes." Sam snorts, as a shorter blonde man clutching a metal mixing bowl to his chest strolls out confidently to beside Cas. "I'll have you know my sweet tooth seems to match nicely with our customers since business is doing so well." He sticks a finger into the bowl, waggles his eyebrows at Sam, puts his finger into his mouth, and pulls it back out with a loud pop.

"My tastes may have driven inventory, but I'm trying to get baby bro Cassie here to interact more with the public in the hopes that someday he'll become a real boy, rather than this wooden interpretation of one." Gabriel pokes Cas on the cheek ("Boop!"), leaving a fingerprint-sporting gob of white icing behind. Cas narrows his eyes, scoops the icing off his face with a finger, and quickly swipes the same finger down the bridge of his brother's nose. The movement is fluid and sure, so unlike his conversational habits. Sam's attempts to stifle a laugh cause him to make some terribly unsexy snorts . "See, improvement already!" Gabriel cackles at his brother, waggles his eyebrows again after giving Sam an up-and-down study, and returns to the back of the shop, still licking icing off his finger.

Cas decides to return Dean's question with one of his own: "So why are you a butcher if you really love cars?" "Well… I worked as a mechanic for a while, but then I busted up my back pretty bad and decided I needed something with shorter hours and less moving heavy things. I've got others at the shop to help me lift all the time, so it's a lot easier. Me and my dad often went hunting when I was growing up, and we'd always dress the meat ourselves, so becoming a butcher seemed pretty natural." Cas nods briefly, tilts his head again, and asks solemnly, "What's your favorite body part?" Dean's eyes get wide. He's heard this question before, just not in this serious of a tone. Sam once again bends over in ill-concealed merriment and grasps his brother's shoulder for support. Between gasping laughs, Sam managed to squeak out, "I think he means what's your favorite cut of meat." Oh. OH. "Well, I hate how much waste most people have. Japanese cookery typically uses every part of an animal. I think oxtail is my favorite. Bone marrow you can melt into a delicious spread, though, and cheek can be so tender..." Cas smiles gently as Dean's face lights up and his face gets more open and excited, with hands twitching in the air as if they were grasping the meat now. "… And the rest of the scraps can go in sausage, and sausage is always delicious…" Cas looks at Sam as Dean continues his ode to organs and entrails, and Sam rolls his eyes and shrugs with a wide smile.

Dean stops by the bakery again at the end of the day after leaving his assistants to finish the mopping, hoping there might be some unsold items to filch, even though since tomorrow's a class day "Sam" will probably receive freshly baked treats the next morning. (Dean rues the day that Sam discovers that there are usually 2 items on the plate Cas drops off. He also rues the day when Sam discovers there have been far more food deliveries than have been shared with him. Sometimes a man just can't resist a chocolate croissant—and sometimes he can't resist two of them.) Sadly, there are no tasty treats to be had today, unless you count the tasty man behind the counter. Which Dean totally doesn't. Because he prefers loud and vibrant people to quiet wit and intense looks and subtle reactions that you watch constantly and closely for, but really staring at that face isn't too hard, is it? And watching his arms and hands is just studying body language. Yeah, that's it.

Cas and Gabriel have just finished up for the day, and Dean follows them through the shop to the back door. Gabriel pushes the door open briskly, but what Gabriel did not realize was his angel of a younger brother, after ensuring the rest of the staff had left, had placed a bucket full of flour on the top of the door. Gabriel turns to his brother, the only part of him not white with flour is the mouth gaping open in shock.

Cas smirks and carefully scoots by his brother to head out the door, and Dean quickly follows. "Don't forget to clean up… bro."

The following Monday, Dean is out in the little courtyard-cum-alley behind the small row of shops, checking over the deliveries before he heads in to start making sausage. A lithe figure, backlit by the rising sun, lopes easily into the courtyard wearing a light green t-shirt and black running shorts. Dean has a distant sense that he should recognize the individual when he finally comes close enough to pick out the facial features. Dean realizes that this is the first time he's actually been able to see that Castiel does in fact have a bottom half below his ass and takes a moment to thank the warm weather for the bare legs on display. "So… no baking today?" "It's Monday, so the shop's closed. Decided to take a day off to go to explore another local produce market. Gabe is supervising the baking for tomorrow." "Oh, that's cool." Neither know quite know what to say next, as Dean stands awkwardly half bent over checking a crate for inventory and Cas bounces from foot to foot. The guy unloading the truck covers up his smile with a cough to get Dean's attention, and Cas quietly slips away.

On the other side of the alley facing the shops is a former carriage house. The top floor belongs to Cas and Gabriel, and Gabriel, being a big fan of his creature comforts, has outfitted the interior to his satisfaction. Cas walks into the darkened kitchen to grab himself a bottle of water and runs his hand over the cool marble of the kitchen island counter. Two types of counter in the kitchen, with the rest of the counters being a tan granite, was a distinct indulgence, but Gabriel had insisted, arguing that marble is better for pastry and that, if Cas tried to do his culinary experiments in the shop's kitchen, he would never actually leave the shop. "You know how you get when you start thinking, bro. You used to sit still for hours as a kid so you could finish your book, and you're not any better when you get into Happy Baking Coma Mode." The thank you and hug Cas had given him after this had startled Gabe into stiffness and even a blush that turned the tips of his ears red—which of course meant Cas had to give him a Nelson-like mocking "Ha ha! You can be embarrassed!" and dance back out of reach. The cavalcade of supposedly embarrassingly trivia about Cas's sex life at top volume that followed him out of the room was worth it, especially since they didn't actually have any neighbors to hear.

A corner of his mouth quirked up into a smile, Cas walks over to the window to let some cooler air in. He has, not coincidentally, chosen the window in the kitchen that overlooks the courtyard. He finally focuses his eyes on the spot where he'd left Dean, hoping to see more of him in motion. His attention is jerked to directly below his second-story window by a voice calling up, "HEY! So… you want any company in checking out that farmer's market?"


	2. Chapter 2

Pairing: Dean/Castiel

Rating: PG-13 (language, brief mention of sexuality)

Warnings: None, other than a brief mention of organ meats (he is a butcher, after all...).

Spoilers: None, since it's AU.

Prompt: Human AU - Castiel owns a bakery and wins Dean over by slowly feeding him delicious things day by day.

Notes: Originally over at the deancastiel LJ community as part of the Everlasting Birthday Challenge.

Summary: A bakery just opened next door to Dean's butcher shop, and Dean makes the mistake of telling Sam there's no way to make pastry manly in front of the pastry chef himself.

The farmer's market is only a half an hour drive, and Cas and Dean ride comfortably in the Impala with the windows down and Metallica blaring. Cas would complain about the volume, but he knows, if it were Gabriel in the driver's seat, the stereo would just get turned up louder. Instead, he squints behind sunglasses out at the fields and lets his hand float along the breeze.

The day is sunny but temperate, and they wander among the aisles, asking for samples as they go. Cas periodically pulls out a small notebook to jot down information when he finds a particularly good vendor, and Dean finds himself asking to borrow the notebook to scribble down his own thoughts. Dean catches himself feeding Cas food when Cas resists trying something, and Cas retaliates by telling some of the vendor that "Oh, yes, I know Dean would love to try your face scrub! He's always complaining about his dull, dry skin."

Eventually, the loud grumbles from Dean's stomach force him to realize that he hasn't eaten a real meal in several hours. "Well, come on. We've been looking at food all day. How about we actually get some to eat?" They find a stand doing fried fresh cod and fries. Dean's eyes light up, and he explains to Cas that they don't sell fish yet because it spoils too quickly, so this is going to be a rare treat for him. Cas hands Dean a ten dollar bill for his food, asking him to get him the same thing, and runs off to some place to the right. Dean's just sitting down at a table when Cas reappears with 2 beer bottles in hand. "Thought you might not object to these. They're from a local microbrewery." The meal gets devoured, more beers get procured, and an another hour passes. Dean is relaxing in the chair he's tipped onto it back legs, smile on his face, legs akimbo, and beer balancing on his knee, as he listens to Cas tell a story of his accountant past when he receives a concerned text from Sam asking where he is. Dean can't help feeling that the guy may be tetchy and hard to reach sometimes, but it's definitely worth the patience to break through the shell. Dean may have a new hobby in making him smile, too.

Cas spots a bit of movement out the window while helping a customer. When he looks back, there's nothing there. He resumes talking to the nice woman who's telling him how her daughter-in-law just loved the pear tarte tatin and that it made the family dinner go so much better, her actually having something to bring as a gift, when he notices the movement again. This time, he also notices the tuft of carefully groomed sandy blonde hair. The hair edges further into his line of vision until a pair of darting green eyes emerge from below it. When the eyes see eyes watching them in return, the head again yanks back out of view. Cas smiles again, a habit he's starting to get used to with Dean around. He belatedly notices that his customer has stopped talking and is waiting with a slightly confused expression to complete the transaction. "Sorry about that, Mrs. Moore. Thought I saw something out the window. Glad the tarte helped sweeten things."

As soon as Mrs. Moore is out of sight, Cas grabs something from the case and bursts through the front door and into the butchery, setting off the bell on the door with a loud clang. "Spying on me, are you?" Dean sputters, "Yeah, well, you did it to me the first time we met."

Cas raises his eyebrows and sets down his latest creation. In front of Dean sits a cupcake-sized, tiny, perfect, lattice-topped pie.

"The day we first met, you said pastry could never be manly. I'd like to issue a challenge to you. You come over tomorrow night, and I will cook you a pastry dish that I guarantee you could consider manly." Dean pauses, since he's never really sure when a guy means come over for dinner as in hang out or come over for dinner as in let's make out. Cas pauses briefly and continues by saying, "I was hoping Sam and Gabriel could join us as well." "Yeah, sure. Game on!"

One of Dean's shop assistants gives his boss a covert wink and then asks Cas about his training as a pastry chef, and the discussion falls into Middle Eastern cuisines and meat with spices Americans typically reserve for pastry . Dean interjects with, "So, if the meat is supposed to be the star of the show, what difference does it make in what cinnamon you use?" "Well, I don't know if you've tried them, but there are several types of cinnamon. Some have more of a heat on the tongue, some are more gentle, and some are more aromatic."

He will later blame his outburst on nerves, that the slow twist in his belly and barrage of want every time he looks into that face makes him want to push it a step farther than dinner with their families, but Cas's business being right next to his means he can't screw this up. So, of course, he does.

"You know, just because I'm a butcher doesn't mean I don't have a refined palate. Pretty sure I could taste the differences between them if I ever got to try them. Us common folk haven't gotten to experience all the things you fancy folk have, so you could cut me some slack."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Whatever. You know what, I don't care. Go back to your freaking edible flowers." Dean twists his face into a frown and walks out, throwing the towel into the laundry bin as he goes. He's regretting his words, but going back to admit in front of some of his staff that he made an ass out of himself because he's self-sabotaging any chance of a relationship isn't something he can handle today. His pie tastes like regret. Delicious, terrifying, what the fuck have I done regret.

Sam, having gotten a text from Gabriel regarding Cas's invitation to dinner and Dean's subsequent asshattery, gives Dean no choice about going over. "I don't care if you don't apologize tonight, but you are going to apologize and we're going to go over there and you're going to be civil." "Why? It isn't like he works next door to you. He wasn't exactly polite to me, either." Sam gives Dean a long look and announces that Dean can either take the keys and drive them over, or Sam hogtie Dean, stuff him in the back seat, and drive them over. "We can do this the dignified way, or we can do this the undignified way."

Gabriel greets them at the door with a smile for Sam and a fierce glare for Dean, ushering them upstairs and into the kitchen. At the sound of the tromping, a dry, deep voice from behind the pantry door says, "I figured you would not be terribly interested in the wine since it's too fancy. There are bottles of beer in the fridge for you, Dean." Gabriel smacks the person behind the door with a spatula, and Dean hears a muttered "sorry". Dean looks in the fridge and spots a characteristically amber bottle. "Browerij de Molen Hel and Verdoemenis," reads the label. "11.0% alcohol, all right then. You'd think you were trying to get me drunk or something." Snooty beer for a snooty man, Dean thinks. He immediately winces and berates himself internally for taking the guilt out on Cas, even mentally.

Dean walks over to sit at the small breakfast bar in the kitchen in front of Cas's workspace, watching deft, slim hands fold translucently thin sheets of dough over and over, brushing each new layer with the egg mixture before creating a new layer of carb-y origami. Cas periodically looks up, and Dean's eyes dart up to meet his and then shamefacedly return to watching the chef's hands at work. The rhythm is steady and hypnotic. Cas assigns Gabriel to sauté the mushrooms and shallots while the beef Dean and Sam had brought sears in a pan. Gabriel pouts and proclaims he's not a sous chef, until Cas mentions that there will Madeira added to the pan. Somehow Cas doesn't expect the rest of the bottle will last long. Eventually, Dean watches the beef be placed onto the pastry sheets, covered with prosciutto and the mushroom mixture, and then get sealed into its delicate wrapping.

While the food roasts, Sam attempts to amuse with a game of keep-away with Gabriel and the bottle of Madeira, which ends up backfiring when Gabriel declares he'll obviously just have to open a new bottle of wine.

The smells of roasting meat begin to fill the apartment. He leans over to pull out the beef Wellington and the roasted potatoes, presenting Dean with a view of his backside that draws a sigh. Sam and Gabriel are again looking pointedly at Dean, then at Cas's tush, then at Dean. Dean had thought it was supposed to be the older siblings ganging against the younger, but it seems Sam has found an additional older brother with whom to wreak havoc. While the meat rests, Cas sautés spinach with garlic and olive oil and asks the three to set the table. Gabriel, of course, opens a third bottle of wine since he and Sam have mysteriously managed to make Madeira disappear and gotten a start on the other. Dean helps himself to another beer, thinking he's definitely going to need it before the night is over.

Cas places a slice of the Wellington onto a plate and sets it front of Dean at the counter for a taste test. Dean carefully slices off a small chunk and places it in his mouth. The earthiness of the mushrooms, a slight bit of saltiness from the prosciutto, a slight acidic tang of wine, and the tender richness of the meat combine to make Dean emit those embarrassing whimpers again.

"Acceptable? Manly enough? May I serve the rest of us now?" Dean nods with a face of reverence and then notices that there appears to be letters on top of the pastry-encased meat still on the cutting board. Letters that seems to say "U C K Y O U". He looks again at the plate in front of him and notices a shape on top of his slice. Cas raises his eyebrows and gives Dean another carefully bland challenging look as he slices. Sam and Gabriel lean over to determine what exactly about the pastry caught Dean's eye and burst into laughter as they spy the not-so-subtle message. Dean's face folds into a soft half-smile, and he looks up, slightly sheepishly, to say, "Yeah, I uh. I was kinda an asshole yesterday, huh?" The following mumble of "" was apparently comprehensible enough that Cas's face also softens into something approaching fond. The eye lock was broken only by Sam and Gabriel loudly coughing and looking pointedly at the serving dishes. The roast potatoes and spinach join the beef on plates, and Cas, Sam, and Gabriel join Dean at the table.

Dinner passes in a much less tense manner. Dean catches himself again relaxing into a sprawl of limbs, telling stories about Sam that are meant to embarrass him but only spur Sam and Gabriel to top it with ever more lurid and outrageous tales of Cas's and Dean's childhoods. As the bottles of wine empty, Cas also gets progressively more loose, mouth spreading in a gummy smile and occasionally bursting into something that can only be called giggles.

At some point, all four are drunkenly playing MarioKart, with the three having teamed up on Dean to ensure that he is Princess Peach. "Whatever, I'm sure I'd look kickass in a skirt." After Gabriel kicks their ass yet again, he notices the time. "There's a midnight showing of the Ocean's 11 movies in town. Would you like to go?" Sam answers in a stilted voice that makes it obvious this had been pre-planned, "Why, of course, Gabriel. That would be fun." Dean looks a bit surprised and suspicious but stands up to grab his jacket, obviously going with them. Cas looks away, having shaken his head no at his brother, and begins to clear the table. He listens as the door shuts, unbelieving such a tall man who seems to knock into everything in a 5 mile radius could have made it out the door that quietly and swiftly without knocking his head or arms.

"So, were you serious about what you said?" Cas does this strange stiff one-legged hop of surprise, the crystal wineglasses he had been carefully carrying clink loudly into the sink, and Cas winces at the sound. (It's not like bakers are exactly rich, you know.) "Fuck you, huh?" Cas's eyes widen. "I hope you know I really am sorry about what I said." Cas nods and says, "I wasn't exactly polite either." Dean edges a step or two closer. There's a faint, shy look of hope in his eyes. Now is the time to make the evening go the way yesterday should have. "So now that we've both apologized… You know, you don't have to go running in the morning to work off all the pastry. There are… other forms of exercise." Dean carefully steps over to the slight man, steadily pushing him back towards the sink. Cas stops backing away before he's hit the counter, straightening up and narrowing his eyes in thought at the man in front of him. Dean worries he's managed to overstep again, more seriously than a tossed-off argument, until Cas surges forward and they become joined at the lips.

"I can make quiche for breakfast." "How about pie? What, it's got fruit, and fruit's good for you." "There's a quiche in the freezer, and I'd rather fuck you into the mattress again than have to take time slicing fruit and making a pie."

Quiche it is for breakfast, and maybe there will be some slow-cooked pulled pork for lunch. Pork does take a while to cook. Who knows how they could pass the time as they wait? Sometimes sweet things are manly, and sometimes the sweetest thing is a man.


End file.
